At that point Al Macdonald let out another expletive.
‘Now they’re firing Verey Pistols at us.’
A series of red flares flew up to the sky from a building near the centre of the airfield.
‘Righto, we’d better get out of here and re-join Purple. I’m not looking forward to this. Wing Commander Morrissey is going to have kittens!’
The Tornado accelerated to three hundred and sixty knots, and Al Macdonald pressed the transmit button.
‘Purple lead, Green One, do you read?’
‘Affirmative Green One, loud and clear. Is Marham clear and have you contacted anyone?’ Todd was getting more and more desperate.
‘Well, sort of – yes & no.’ Al Macdonald was unsure where to start.
Todd Morrissey came back sharply.
‘Spit it out Green One and stop pissing about!’
‘Well, you asked for it and please don’t shoot the messenger. We updated our nav kit, got a positive fix over the coast and have positively identified the airfield known as Marham.’
Al MacDonald paused momentarily and then gave Todd the unwanted news:
‘Except ……..RAF Marham as we know it isn’t there.’
‘What do you mean Green One – isn’t there – it must be.’
At this point Yellow Five broke in.
‘Keep an open mind, son.’
Todd was now totally confused. Why was his bloody father sticking his nose in, yet again?
‘Green One – please give your report clearly and concisely. We haven’t got time for amateur theatricals.’
Al Macdonald took a deep breath and continued.
‘Purple lead, I say again, RAF Marham is not where it's supposed to be. In its place is a large grassy area with a concrete strip about five thousand feet long. There is only one hangar, a ramshackle Air Traffic tower, no married patch, no hardened aircraft shelters, no station buildings to speak of – and there are a few second world war aircraft parked on the grass. We know that someone is there because they fired a series of red flares at us. I’m sorry, but that’s the story – like it or lump it.’
Todd was silent for a good twenty seconds. He could hear the ‘thinks bubbles’ coming from every aircraft in the formation. However, his extensive and expensive training then took over.
‘Purple formation, did you copy the Green One report, Check in by flight.’
The formation checked in. Now they all knew. The main question now was – what was Todd going to do next?
***
He didn’t have much time to think about it – the radio burst into life’
‘Purple lead, from Blue Four – we’re under attack – something’s firing on us. Jesus Christ - it's that Battle of Britain Spitfire – and he’s got a friend. Taking evasi…..’
The radio cut off.
‘Blue Four, are you OK, what’s going on?’
Todd was now frantic. He thought he must be dreaming or if not, he was surely going mad. Nothing else made sense!
‘Purple lead, from Blue Four.’
Dave Stewart, the pilot of Blue Four was now screaming.
‘We’re hit, gunfire. I think Rocky’s had it. The canopy is shattered – shit, here they come again – I can’t out-turn them. Shit. I’m jumping out……………….’
Todd blurted out orders.
‘Blue Lead, go and help him. Blue Two and Three give the rest of the formation cover,’
He tried the aircraft in distress once again.
‘Blue Four, do you read?’
Nothing
‘Blue Lead do you have visual contact with Blue four?
‘Affirmative, Purple Lead, Dave’s jet is out of control……………. Shit - it's in the water!’
‘Is there a parachute?’
Blue lead took about ten seconds to answer.
‘Doesn’t look like it, Purple lead, I think they’re both gone!’
16
Norfolk
1 July 1940
Todd Morrissey’s world was now crumbling around him. Three people dead, no radios working and a crazy report from Green One. His brain literally started to hurt.
‘Purple lead from Blue One, instructions?’
Todd gathered up as much strength as he could and tried to appear calm as he replied.
‘Roger, Blue One, circle the area just to make sure no-one got out. And watch out for those crazy bastards in the Spitfires. There’ll be hell to pay when I get to Scampton!’
Todd’s priority now was to calm everything down and get these aircraft down on the ground ASAP. But where? Green Three said Marham had disappeared. There was only one thing for it – he’d have to go and look himself.
‘Purple formation, this is Purple lead. Try to keep calm and maintain position in the hold. Blue aircraft, I’m depending on you to protect us. I’m going to Marham to see for myself. Red Two you have the lead. All formations acknowledge’
They all did so as Todd & Stumpy set off for Marham. It was only a seven or eight minute trip so he’d get answers quickly.
And then it dawned on him. Why didn’t he think of it before. He could transmit on Guard – the emergency frequency that ALL aircraft and ATC agencies monitored. They were bound to hear him. Todd switched to the pre-set frequency and gave it a go.
‘All stations, all stations this is Purple formation – fifteen – correction - fourteen aircraft holding two-five miles to the north-east of RAF Marham. We are in distress and require assistance. Do you copy?’
Almost immediately came back a reply.
‘Purple formation, this is Marham tower, what assistance do you require, what is your airfield of departure and type of aircraft.’
Todd almost audibly let out a great sigh of relief.
‘Thank God, Marham tower, we’ve been trying for ages to contact someone. We are thirteen jets and one turbo-prop aircraft. I am currently on three-mile finals to Marham. We are requesting a radar service for recovery to Marham. Also we have lost one aircraft due to hostile fire from what appeared to be a Battle of Britain Flight Spitfire. Can you please contact all units that we are the Royal Flypast Formation and that a rogue Spitfire is airborne. Suggest you scramble someone to deal with him.’
At that, Todd’s aircraft passed down the runway at Marham, at five hundred feet and four hundred knots. Both he and Stumpy were flabbergasted at what they saw. Green One had been absolutely right. The Marham that they knew was just not there. A series of red flares was coming from a tatty building near the runway. Clearly, the occupants could see the Tornado.
‘Purple formation this Marham Tower, we have the C.O. here who will take over control of the situation.’
Todd sighed more relief. Now the puzzle would be solved.
‘Purple formation, this is Group Captain Johnson – the Station Commander. I’m afraid we don’t understand your message, old chap. Could you explain? We can see your kite but don’t recognise it. Are you British?’
Stumpy spoke first.
‘Johnson? Where the hell is our CO, Todd?’
‘Shut-up Stumpy, for God’s sake, I’m trying to think. What the hell is going on? Keep circling the airfield whilst I work it out.’
Clearly, there was something very wrong here. He stabbed himself very hard with a pencil from his flying suit. No, he wasn’t dreaming. The only – crazy and clearly impossible – alternative, was now beginning to slowly dawn on him.
‘Marham, please standby for three-zero seconds – BREAK, BREAK – Yellow Five, do you read?’
‘Yes I do, son. What you see is what you think it is. I said keep an open mind. If I were you I’d get the boys down on the ground and we can talk about this later. Just convince that airfield to let us in.’
Todd again was set dramatically back on his heels. Apparently his father was in on this. He was now beginning to understand a lot of things. This is why he insisted on coming on this sortie, and why he had forced them all into the storm clouds.
Then another thou
ght struck him……
……….ohhh, of course - it was some kind of weird test of Todd’s abilities. Right, he’d just have to show him what he was made of. He’d play their stupid game ……………but was it a game – there were three dead? If they weren’t, that would mean everyone was in on it.
But they couldn’t be.
His head was spinning and paranoia was now starting to set in.
‘Roger, Yellow Five, BREAK, BREAK, Marham tower, this is Purple formation. Affirmative; we are British and have been briefed by Command. We request permission to land ASAP at Marham.’
‘Purple, this is Group Captain Johnson. Sorry old chap, but we’ve checked and no-one knows about you. Can’t let you land here, old boy, you could be Gerry.’
As Todd’s jet circled the field for the third time, Todd was becoming angry.
‘Marham, for Christ’s sake, we’re British and we’re in trouble – let us land.’
‘Sorry, old chap, can’t do that – you could be an invasion force – been expectin’ one for some time. I’m blockin’ the runway.’
Todd was now getting worried and angry.
‘Look Marham, in less than three-zero minutes our aircraft and crews are going to start crashing and dying. For pity’s sake let us land safely.’
The CO at Marham was not for giving in.
‘Again, got to say sorry, old chap, I’m scramblin’ fighters to sort you out.’
Todd was now worried, angry and was starting to panic. He’d already lost one jet. He had to think fast.
‘Listen Marham, can’t you authenticate us to check that we’re genuine? You know; something that only a Brit would know. Please try – what have you got to lose?’
‘Roger, Purple – let us think about it. Be back in a jiffy, old bean.’
Todd sank back in his ejection seat. This was one to tell the grandchildren. However, in the meantime he needed to check with his formation.
‘Red Two – check status’
‘Roger, Purple lead, all aircraft safely in the hold – fuel critical in four-zero minutes’
‘Roger, Red two, copied and understood.’
Marham then came back on the radio.
‘Ok, Purple lead, one question which no Gerry would be likely to know at such short notice. Answer me this and you’ve got thirty seconds to reply accurately. At which five cricket grounds do England play their Ashes cricket Tests at home?
Unfortunately, Todd Morrissey abhorred bloody cricket. So he immediately went for the radio button to seek help. But before he could do so, Yellow Five broke in.
‘Marham, here’s your answer, Old Trafford, Headingley, Edgbaston, Lords & the Oval. I think you’ll find that is ticketty-boo!’
Todd swore. His father again. But at least he’d answered the fucking ‘Question of Sport’ quiz.
‘Roger, Purple formation, you are clear to land at Middle Fleckney aerodrome, which is six miles south of Marham. You’ll recognise it as it has a concrete runway and two large hangars. But be warned old chap, there will be a reception party waiting, so no nonsense. You are clear to start landin’ in thirty minutes’
‘Thanks, Marham, we will commence landing in three-zero minutes at Middle Fleckney.’
Todd had never heard of it, but Stumpy interrupted by stating that he could see it clearly to the south – and the runway looked East/West. Todd thanked him and then got back on the radio to issue instructions to his team.
‘Purple formation, Purple lead. Commence recovery procedures to land at Middle Fleckney – six miles south of Marham. Runway two-seven –ish. We’ll go first and let you know. Beware of FOD – there could be plenty and there will be no radio or radar assistance, time to earn your pay, chaps - acknowledge.’
FOD was Foreign Object Damage – small pieces of litter or flotsam and jetsam which inhabited old disused airfields. It could be sucked up and could wreak havoc with jet engines and cause permanent damage.
As the rest of the formation acknowledged, Todd requested the airfield pressure or QFE, and passed it back after adjusting his altimeter. At least they could get their approaches right. Stumpy rolled the aircraft to the south and overflew Middle Fleckney. Marham were right. It had a concrete strip he estimated to be around six thousand feet long with two large hangars and various other outbuildings. The strip was reasonably clear but grass was growing on the taxiways. Apart from the large two-seven painted on the end of the runway to denote the direction – the airfield was quiet. Or was it. As they circled for the eighth time – Todd notice a menacing sight. Around twenty large trucks arrived at the runway edge and armed soldiers started jumping out and taking up defensive positions.
There certainly would be a reception committee.
17
Middle Fleckney
1 July 1940
‘Purple lead, Yellow Five, do you read?’
Todd attempted to control his growing anger with his father. He clearly knew something – or more likely, everything concerning this debacle – and had deliberately said nothing. If you couldn’t trust your own father, then just who could you trust?
‘Roger, Yellow Five – what other surprises have you got up your sleeve?’ Todd thinly disguised the sarcasm in his voice.
‘Purple lead, I am now taking control of this formation. Purple acknowledge by flights.’
Purple remained silent for some seconds. Everything was now moving just too fast for Todd. In some strange way he was grateful for this relief of command – but his pride was still hurt. Nevertheless, Todd reached for the transmit button.
‘Purple lead, acknowledged – Yellow Five has the lead – Purple formation check in.’
Instant responses came from the remaining twelve aircraft. Yellow Five – AVM Morrissey – was now running the show. What would he do next? Todd had but a few seconds to wait.
‘Purple Formation and Marham Ground Control, this is Yellow Five, Air Vice Marshal Morrissey commanding. All fourteen aircraft will land at Middle Fleckney and aircrews will remain in their aircraft with engines shut down until further notice. Marham, I suggest you contact Downing Street immediately – I wish to speak with the Prime Minister as soon as possible, over.’
Well, well, well. Todd’s father was in it up to his neck. Was this a military coup – no it couldn’t be. Other wild ideas flashed through Todd’s mind as his father spoke again.
‘Purple lead, you land first and co-ordinate the recovery of the other thirteen aircraft, I can’t do that from here.’
‘Roger, Yellow Five, we are finals, three greens to land, runway two-seven, QFE one-zero-two-three. We will taxy off at the first exit and control landings from there. There seems to be a hard standing about half way down. The aircraft can park there in order. Be advised we have a welcoming party of about two hundred soldiers in Dad’s Army gear – armed to the teeth, so be careful.’
Purple formation acknowledged and Marham interjected and passed a discrete VHF frequency for the formation to use.
‘That’s our Operations secondary frequency, Purple. At least no-one else will hear what’s going on.’
Yellow Five spoke again.
‘Marham, from Yellow Five, I would be obliged if your ground controllers kept any Air Defence aircraft away from us. We’ve already lost one aircraft to friendly fire!’
‘Roger Yellow Five, the area is now clear’
Better late than never, thought Todd, as Stumpy landed the jet at the end of runway two-seven at Middle Fleckney. The runway was bumpier that he was used to, but it was wide and almost FOD free – which was a surprise. They engaged the reverse thrust and slowed down rapidly. When Stumpy reached the first exit, he turned off left, did a complete one-eighty degree turn, so that his nose was pointing towards the centre of the airfield. He would be able see the aircraft landing from here, and could direct them to the second exit and back up the taxiway to park just behind and to the left of him. There was a nice wide concreted area – very convenient.
As Stumpy shut dow
n the engines, he restarted the APU, (auxiliary power unit ) so that he could use his radio to shepherd the remainder of the formation onto the ground without flattening his battery. However, as they came to a full stop, about twenty soldiers – all heavily armed, surrounded the aircraft. They were a hotchpotch of men, some teenagers but many elderly soldiers with an array of different weapons. However, Todd was taking no risks. He would take his father’s advice and stay securely in the jet. Nevertheless, he needed to communicate with these men. So he wrote a short message, in big capital letters, on the back of a map he had in the cockpit.
JET LAG! Page 9
